next-paige - Hello Poetry

Cruisin' the highway of life Nothing can get in my way Radio up, tunes I adore I couldn't ask for anything more Suddenly, I start to swerve Euphoric poison jostles my nerves I'm losing control, and I can't feel Somebody please take the wheel It started as a bit of fun The race unfinished I had won Soon enough I'd sense false glory Would I live to tell my story? Somebody catch me, I'm falling Harsh realities now appalling Don't you know I could be bawling Instead these words I'm duly scrawling A million projects unfinished Sense of time diminished Sentiments overdue Self-assuredness gone askew Perhaps the most productive time Still I would rather be just fine Than pacing, racing, sleep deprived Just glad I made it out alive In the midst of all this rambling I'm sure glad I'm not out gambling Not for money, but survival Bless my sanity's revival First came the ocean's bottom Next, the top of the world Then, I was numb, dead Now I am myself instead At first it was a paradox I couldn't understand Drugs meant to resurrect me Could render me so bland But that was just a phase The gilded Age was brief Not long 'fore I could smell fresh air Salt's not a stealthy thief The seasons change Friends come and go But I outlast And won't let go To anyone who's in a bind Keep fighting, see it through There's sunshine once the clouds are gone It's waiting there for you. post nubila phoebus

0

Apr 18, 2012

Apr 18, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC

next-paige

Post nubila phoebus

Cruisin' the highway of life Nothing can get in my way Radio up, tunes I adore I couldn't ask for anything more Suddenly, I start to swerve Euphoric poison jostles my nerves I'm losing control, and I can't feel Somebody please take the wheel It started as a bit of fun The race unfinished I had won Soon enough I'd sense false glory Would I live to tell my story? Somebody catch me, I'm falling Harsh realities now appalling Don't you know I could be bawling Instead these words I'm duly scrawling A million projects unfinished Sense of time diminished Sentiments overdue Self-assuredness gone askew Perhaps the most productive time Still I would rather be just fine Than pacing, racing, sleep deprived Just glad I made it out alive In the midst of all this rambling I'm sure glad I'm not out gambling Not for money, but survival Bless my sanity's revival First came the ocean's bottom Next, the top of the world Then, I was numb, dead Now I am myself instead At first it was a paradox I couldn't understand Drugs meant to resurrect me Could render me so bland But that was just a phase The gilded Age was brief Not long 'fore I could smell fresh air Salt's not a stealthy thief The seasons change Friends come and go But I outlast And won't let go To anyone who's in a bind Keep fighting, see it through There's sunshine once the clouds are gone It's waiting there for you. post nubila phoebus

49

dimitri was a music man who paid attention to life's subtleties he chiseled at a block of notes, hammering them down to sculpted perfection music did he use as a platform to disguise his controversial contexts distracting his judges with thin air before delving into the matter at hand a scherzo, to illumine Stalin's atrocities sewn into the playful boom-chuck, dangerous melodies and complex harmonies in one instance, the William Tell did he use to comment on power to the people and their triumph over the regime it was a strategic ironic play Rossini's light, airy music brewing with tumult in fact une blague, a sort of joke to mock society an unsettling fiddle bit later echoed in the likes of Bernstein dimitri read his part at a UNESCO convention-- --deadpan, not looking up once from his paper it was clear, he had his own opinion a voice rang in the distance, an approaching bell at a time when all were violently silenced the opposition cleverly fashioning his statements one only had to listen to his symphonies to find dimitri's was a very attuned mind.

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Mar 28, 2012

Mar 28, 2012 at 7:39 AM UTC

next-paige

dimitri toed the line

dimitri was a music man who paid attention to life's subtleties he chiseled at a block of notes, hammering them down to sculpted perfection music did he use as a platform to disguise his controversial contexts distracting his judges with thin air before delving into the matter at hand a scherzo, to illumine Stalin's atrocities sewn into the playful boom-chuck, dangerous melodies and complex harmonies in one instance, the William Tell did he use to comment on power to the people and their triumph over the regime it was a strategic ironic play Rossini's light, airy music brewing with tumult in fact une blague, a sort of joke to mock society an unsettling fiddle bit later echoed in the likes of Bernstein dimitri read his part at a UNESCO convention-- --deadpan, not looking up once from his paper it was clear, he had his own opinion a voice rang in the distance, an approaching bell at a time when all were violently silenced the opposition cleverly fashioning his statements one only had to listen to his symphonies to find dimitri's was a very attuned mind.

20

LUST is a juicy fruit the seeds of impurity cover it like a blanket once it is bitten into, the taste of desire overwhelms the senses enveloping them, a euphoric cloud of fantasies which are played on repeat in the head press play for a demonstration of frustration and regret as one remembers the taste of sweet strawberries the lingering tartness of pleasure the tangible bitterness of self-interest the juice is dripping from the chin of those who indulge in this enticing sin ensnared in the fury of so-called passion two lovers, caught between silk bedding fighting for the covers, bare skin breathing through fibers whispers dangling in the room's stale air a clock ticks the tempo of passion the lovers feign an argument about something trivial laughing, they resolve and go into fits of happiness outside, the leaves on the trees rustle in the wind somewhere, a school bus blares its horn the world is waking up but our lovers are still in bed, dreaming lazy she wakes up in a delirious haze he coos at her and she purrs in delight finally she stirs and rises to make breakfast whole wheat banana pancakes Jack Johnson variations

0

Mar 28, 2012

Mar 28, 2012 at 1:53 AM UTC

next-paige

of a robust strawberry

LUST is a juicy fruit the seeds of impurity cover it like a blanket once it is bitten into, the taste of desire overwhelms the senses enveloping them, a euphoric cloud of fantasies which are played on repeat in the head press play for a demonstration of frustration and regret as one remembers the taste of sweet strawberries the lingering tartness of pleasure the tangible bitterness of self-interest the juice is dripping from the chin of those who indulge in this enticing sin ensnared in the fury of so-called passion two lovers, caught between silk bedding fighting for the covers, bare skin breathing through fibers whispers dangling in the room's stale air a clock ticks the tempo of passion the lovers feign an argument about something trivial laughing, they resolve and go into fits of happiness outside, the leaves on the trees rustle in the wind somewhere, a school bus blares its horn the world is waking up but our lovers are still in bed, dreaming lazy she wakes up in a delirious haze he coos at her and she purrs in delight finally she stirs and rises to make breakfast whole wheat banana pancakes Jack Johnson variations

27

Did you hear the one about the Fountain? You know, that bathroom furnishing-turned-art that was quickly snatched from public view because some found it "offensive, immoral, and repulsive?" The one that has a jumbled history? R. Mutt--my mother in German R. Mutt--Richard Mutt bought the fountain R. Mutt--a French cartoon reference R. Mutt-- modification of the name of the plumbing company What really happened? A mystery of history. A beautifully complex objet trouvé, turned on its side to find new meaning. Art is in the eye of the beholder. Art is necessary, thus the necessary is art. For a start.

0

Mar 28, 2012

Mar 28, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC

next-paige

Fountain of contradictions

Did you hear the one about the Fountain? You know, that bathroom furnishing-turned-art that was quickly snatched from public view because some found it "offensive, immoral, and repulsive?" The one that has a jumbled history? R. Mutt--my mother in German R. Mutt--Richard Mutt bought the fountain R. Mutt--a French cartoon reference R. Mutt-- modification of the name of the plumbing company What really happened? A mystery of history. A beautifully complex objet trouvé, turned on its side to find new meaning. Art is in the eye of the beholder. Art is necessary, thus the necessary is art. For a start.

13